


Won't You Be My Constant (Let Me Live Among Your Stars)

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Artemis!Allison Argent, Athena!Lydia Martin, Based on a Myth, But he redeems himself, Constellations, Dionysus!Derek Hale, Enyo!Erica Reyes, Fail!Derek, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gerard gets his comeuppance, Hale sisters as Furies, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Most Everyone is either a god/goddess or from mythology, Mythical Creature Stiles, Other, Period Dialogue, Revenge, Teen Wolf Reverse Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God of Wine Derek has long spent his days enjoying the fruits of his followers’ labor, drinking, partaking in revelry and hedonism. He was a god; it was his prerogative. For just as long his devotees have celebrated alongside him. After an argument with Derek, half satyr/half dryad, Stiles, a confidante and occasional paramour of the god, has fled the forest bound for Thrace.</p><p>However, King Gerard of Thrace, disapproving of the way the Maenads, worshipers in the Cult of Derek, have chosen to practice their religion, has imprisoned them in his kingdom. Unfortunately, Stiles gets caught in the roundup. Now Derek, with the help of some unlikely allies, must launch a rescue mission to free his flock and his friend, with whom he seeks to atone for his inconstant affection.</p><p>Can he free them in time, and will Stiles accept Derek’s apology?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't You Be My Constant (Let Me Live Among Your Stars)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Liber](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433468) by [AlphaFeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaFeels/pseuds/AlphaFeels). 



> This is my fic contribution to the Teen Wolf Reverse Bang over on Live Journal  
> [X](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/)
> 
> The gorgeous art was created by [witchaphe](http://www.witchaphe.tumblr.com) , who will be posting on their AO3 tomorrow  
> [X](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaFeels/works)  
> Please make sure you show some love.
> 
>  
> 
> For Easy Reference, since every character is 'playing' someone other than themselves, here you are: A Dramatis Personae
> 
> Gods/Goddesses:  
> Derek=Dionysus (God of wine, revelry, pleasure, and vegetation)  
> Erica= Enyo (Goddess of war)  
> Lydia= Athena (Goddess of wisdom, weaving, crafts, war strategy [and lots else])  
> Allison= Artemis (Goddess of hunting, wilderness, and wild animals)  
> Isaac (Mentioned but does not appear)=Apollo (God of prophecy, music and poetry, healing, and archery)  
> Deaton (Mentioned but does not appear)=Pan (God of shepherds and flocks, hunting, and rustic music)  
> Peter (Mentioned but does not appear)=Hades (God of the dead and death| King of the Underworld)
> 
> Furies:  
> Laura= Alekto  
> Cora= Megaera  
> Nora= Tisiphone
> 
> Stiles= Child of Dryad/Satyr Maintains one of Deaton’s altars/ Consort of Derek
> 
> Gerard= King Lykourgos of Thrace  
> OFC: Queen Athanasia  
> Kate: Princess Aikaterine
> 
> Agender Stiles uses pronouns ne, nem, nir, nirs, nemself  
> Fic tagged as M/M for searching purposes. The 'other' relationship tag is because Stiles does not identify as male. Fic does not contain xeno 
> 
> This was beta'd by the lovely [apinkducky](http://apinkducky.tumblr.com) , who had invaluable input on Greek Mythology. She's saved my bacon so many times lately.
> 
> Loosely based on myth of Dionysus and King Lycurgus of Thrace  
> Link to original myth: [X](http://www.theoi.com/Heros/Lykourgos.html)

“Please, Lydia. I beseech you. Help me; I have no idea what I am to do,” Derek tried to plead his case to his half-sister. “You always have the best plans.”

“I told you all your drunken debauchery, leading youths astray would come back to haunt you one day, but did you listen to me?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“But-”

“No!” She snapped at him, jabbing her index finger into his chest. “I am the goddess of wisdom for a reason, Derek! I told you it would not be prudent to try and spread your cult into Thrace, told you the old King was against the type of revelry in which your patrons participated, specifically the orgies! I warned you!”

“You do not under-”

“I do not understand what? That without your precious Maenads, there will be no more sacrifices of wine for you, no more worshipers throwing themselves prostrate at your feet offering themselves to you? Lamentable,  but you brought this on yourself.”

“I do not care about that. Please, if you would only but listen.”

“Why? You brought this mess upon your own head; you shall be the one to clean it.” She tossed her long red hair off her shoulders.

Derek hung his head. “If you will not help me; please help them.” His desperate plea garnered no response, and he stared at her retreating back while she reentered the temple, leaving him standing outside looking more forlorn than before they spoke.

What was he going to do? King Gerard had kidnapped a thousand of his Maenads, drove him and a few of his priestesses into the sea. As a god, Derek survived. The same could not be said of his priestesses. With so many worshipers imprisoned, Derek could feel his power waning.

But he didn’t care about power, not anymore.

Among the imprisoned, sat one of Derek’s closest confidantes and sometimes consort. Most of his desperation stemmed not from the incarcerated thousand, but just that one. It was Derek’s fault ne was even in Thrace to begin with. Then, Derek, stupidly followed after, and it led to King Gerard’s actions.

He sighed, and buried his head in his arms. Some powerful god he was. He didn’t need to worry about this. There was wine to drink, grape harvests to bless, and bacchanalia’s to frequent. He shouldn’t be worrying about this. But he was.

The longer he sat there, feeling sorry for himself, he found Lydia’s words burrowing deeper into his head. Was that all he was, a self-absorbed hedonist who cared little for the feelings of others?

By Zeus, he was.

He ran his hands through his hair, clawing at his scalp. No, no he wasn’t. Though he delighted in the revelry, he enjoyed the company of his maenads, found them interesting, their methods of worship intriguing. He was more than Lydia’s words. He had to be. The way his heart fluttered with every moment spent with his companion did not lie. His feelings were genuine.

After an hour of pathetic wallowing, Derek rose and sought out some of his favorite divine ladies.

 

*****

 

Derek offered up his blood sacrifice at the altar outside the entrance to the Underworld. That was one of the finest goats he’d been able to find; it had better be enough. He sat down on the rocks to wait.

And wait

       And wait.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the conditions in that prison where Gerard held nem. He tried to think about inebriated revelry and wine, so much wine, but he couldn’t. Instead, his head filled with memories of that argument that started everything…

… _“No, wait! I am sorry. Come back, and I shall make it up to you!” Derek chased after.._

_Stiles spun around and gave Derek a shove. “I do not care! What was I thinking letting you sway me with your words? They were not even good words.” Stiles shook with rage and some bark broke free from nir shoulders, leaves fell from nir hair. “I know I am not the first in whom you sought comfort.” Stiles shoved at Derek’s shoulders. “I am not that type of being.”_

_“No, you’re-”_

_“Special. Yes, I am aware of that, thank you. What gave it away? Was it the horns or the green skin. Perhaps it was the bark. No? Oh, I know. It was my tail wasn’t it? Believe me, I know full well the uniqueness I bear thanks to my parentage. Not quite satyric enough to fit in with my father’s family, and not quite dryadic enough to earn Allison’s favor like my mother. With all the ways you professed to care about how I am different, it just did not seem to be enough.” Nir head spun as ne tried to contain the seething anger within. “Then came the gifts. Ill advised gifts might I add! Now look what you have done.” Ne spun around, arms spread wide at the burnt area of the forest in which ne stood. “Do you know how many of my friends and relatives your little prank made homeless?”_

_“It was not a prank. That was a gift.”_

_“Oh yes, bring a vessel of Greek fire to the forest. Nothing could possibly go wrong.” Even though Stiles shook with rage, nir sarcasm was still on point. “Your gift killed two hamadryads, turning their trees to ash, Derek!”_

_Derek pleaded in earnest. “I did not mean for it to set the forest ablaze. It was a gift; I swear to you.”_

_“And I suppose those three amphoras of goat’s blood were gifts too?”_

_“Of course. What else would they be?” How hard was this concept for Stiles to grasp? Derek would give nem the world if he could._

_Stiles rolled nir eyes. “Did you forget?”_

_“Forget what? I thought you would like the gift. It was a fine sacrifice.”_

_“How drunk do you have to be to forget I am half satyr! Why would I ever want goat’s blood?”_

_“Why...oh.” Derek paled, and Stiles turned on nir heel and fled the forest, with Derek in hot pursuit. “I meant no harm by those gifts. I swear.”_

_“And I suppose you meant no harm in your dalliances with Erato! Oh yes, I saw that.” Stiles leveled him with a glare. “It is bad enough that you come into my forest, while I am at work, to make inebriated confessions of love at Deaton’s altar--quite the sacrilege by the way. When you scorn me and leave… again, I am left to bear my lord’s wrath. Not you.” Ne jabbed a finger into Derek’s sternum, face red with anger. “How dare you! Burning down his forest, the gall of you to show your face here again--but then you pursue others.”_

_Derek watched Stiles run both hands through nir hair, exposing the little horns atop nir head which normally remained hidden amongst the wavy and long myrtle colored hair. “But you could live amongst my satyrs and never need to worry about Deaton.”_

_Stiles’ jaw hung open in a mix of shock and disgust. “That is what you took from that? It is not that easy, Derek. Look at me! How could I reasonably do that? I feel at home here in the forest. But I suppose how I feel is of no concern to you.” Stiles was furious. Whenever that happened, ne shed so much bark, leaving nir green skin exposed and tender. Derek knew Stiles hated it, had watched nem struggle to cover nemself as best ne could the first time he saw it happen. Stiles had chased away several wild cats from Deaton’s altar after they’d eaten offerings left by worshipers, leaving the place a mess. Stiles always said the air stung nir skin quite badly when the bark first stripped away._

_Derek opened his mouth to protest._

_“Save it; I have seen you in the arms of countless of your Maenads. I know of your reputation. I knew about it when I let you kiss me. What a fool I was to trust your words declaring me your favorite. I think that lie hurts worse than catching you with Erato.”_

_“Stiles, wait-”_

_“Just leave me alone, please.” Stiles wiped the tears from nir face. “My heart cannot take your inconstancy.”_

_Stiles stormed off, and Derek watched heartbroken, unable to give chase…_

  


...A noise from behind him, startled Derek from his thoughts. He looked up to see the three avenging sisters staring at him. Though they were of no relation, it was hard to miss the physical resemblance he shared with them. The same dark hair, strong jawline, and expressive brows stared back at him. “Ladies,” he greeted, his voice hoarse.

“Derek, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Laura, the eldest and spirit of unceasing anger, spoke first.

“I need help punishing a grievous act of impiety.”

Laura’s younger sister, Cora, glared at him. Derek was not sure which was more unnerving, the glare itself or the fact that it came while she hovered on her back, her wings flapping towards the ground, moving dirt and small stones with each beat. With her head dropped back, Derek found himself staring at her upside down face. This, definitely this was more unsettling.

Upside down, Cora’s eyes looked like black holes from the pits of Tartarus, waiting to pull him under. “You? Care about sacrilege? When have you, in your almost constant, hazy cloud of intoxication, ever cared whether people worshipped you? So long as you received your offerings, you could not care less about blasphemy,” she scoffed, her words thick with derision. Clearly, she was not a fan of his.

“Please. Gerard, King of Thrace, has stolen and imprisoned so many of my patrons, including my favorite, one to whom I would belong solely, if ne would let me. But I was capricious with my affection and drove nem away, right into Thrace. I fear I shall never have what I longed for with nem. Yet, I must save my love.”

“Now that is most certainly impiety. How many?” Cora asked him. Though a spirit meant to avenge murder, she liked to keep the balance.

“A thousand.”

Finally, the youngest sister, Nora, made her presence known, with a loud and derisive scoff as she floated a few feet above the ground, her wings beating just enough to keep her hovering. Eyes closed, she was no doubt peering into Derek’s past to determine whether his claims held any truth.

“Why should I help you? Why should any of us help you? You say you would commit yourself to this being, and yet you did not. Continuing to have dalliances with followers, anyone that would have you. That poor heart you have broken with your fickle nature, wept for you the whole boat ride to Thrace.”

Derek hung his head. He already knew the pain his actions had caused Stiles. He did not need to hear it from yet another mouth. “Fine, do not help me, but do not punish them all for my actions. Please.” He watched as the furies huddled together discussing his request. This conference continued for quite a while. Some time later, where it was obvious the discussion was clearly going nowhere, and Derek’s heart kept sinking deeper in his chest, from his peripherals, saw a figure approaching.

Clad in the finest armor, her long blonde curls cascading down her chest, with a kopis hanging, sheathed at her waist, she presented a formidable appearance. Derek recognized her immediately: The war goddess, Erica.

Her brown eyes held a gleam of impending chaos. “You called upon me?”

“Yes,” Laura said, “we seek your assistance to punish the King of Thrace. He disagreed with the cult of Derek’s means of worship, likening it to insanity, and has imprisoned them. What say you...an eye for an eye? Help us balance the scales?”

A maniacal smile played at the corners of Erica’s lips. “When do we start?”

 

*****

 

Stiles clamped both hands over nir ears. The water dripping in the far corner of the nir cell hadn’t let up in days.

Drip

     Drip

         Drip

              Drip

Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. The place smelled like death and excrement. Ne shuddered at the thought of just how much death the room had seen. Ne’d personally witnessed the passing of three maenads nemself. When they’d all been rounded up and thrown in this pit, sectioned off into twenty different holds, the jailers were less than kind. Stiles sported a large gash on nir leg and prayed to Allison for help, to Isaac for healing. If the wound began to fester, ne was done for in these conditions. Stiles pulled the fabric of nir chiton down to protect the leg as best as possible. Though it was, by no means, still in pristine condition, fabric filthy and ripped in several places, it was better than nothing

All around the dank and dark room, ne could see followers of Derek in various degrees of suffering. More than a few were in the same boat as ne, injured. He could see three women barely conscious nearby. Sobbing carried through the walls, and ne supposed those held in the other cells were just as miserable as they were. Rations were meager at best, negligible at worst, and water just as paltry.

Ne hadn’t had more than a crust of bread and a small glass of water in days. Stiles wasn’t alone in nir suffering. Any time an angry growl broke out from yet another person’s stomach, it only served to remind nem just how hungry ne really was.

It was cold in the room, and nir clothes didn’t do much in the way of keeping nem warm, but it did conceal nir legs. Two days ago, ne’d awoken having shed all the bark on his legs and arms. Up until that point, Stiles had managed to keep growing more despite not particularly feeling up to the challenge. The funny thing about going hungry...you start to quit trying to maintain appearances.

Not that ne had much of an appearance to maintain anymore. The guards had taken the maenads, one by one, and cut their hair as punishment. Stiles had suffered the same fate. It was then they had noticed nir horns, and Stiles feared what they would do to nem now.

Countless heads whipped towards the door when a loud creak came from its hinges. Mealtime. Today, instead of singular rations, just a platter holding stale bread and a small portion of cheese and grapes slid into the middle of the room, hitting the middle column with a clang. Too tired, too weak to move quickly enough, by the time Stiles crawled over to the food, only the tiniest bit of bread and two grapes remained. Whatever happened to religious charity? Still ne took what was still there and held it to nir chest like it was precious.

It did little to satiate the hunger.

Ne’d lost count of how many days they’d all been held here. How could ne have been so stupid as to leave the forest for destinations elsewhere? Why didn’t ne go and seek out another forest in which to live? One far away from Derek’s wandering eyes and arms.

Oh who was ne kidding? The man was omnipotent. No matter where Stiles went, the god would sure know and be able to seek nem out.

_You are most foolish, Stiles. T’was unwise to enter dalliances with a god. Have you not heard the stories? Mortals always suffer._

But Stiles was different. Wasn’t ne? Ne was not human, not entirely mortal, rather in possession of a life span much longer than man. Yet, ne was surely no wiser.

Exhausted, starving, and with a heart quite broken, Stiles curled nir knees into nir chest and cried.

 

*****

 

“How do you intend to liberate them all?” Derek asked. “There are guards everywhere.”

“Easy,” the three sisters spoke in unison. He hated when they did that. It was unnerving. “King Gerard disagreed with the way your followers worshipped, calling them mad. Retribution really is quite simple.” They passed a look back and forth among the three of them, one whose meaning Derek could not parse out.

Erica thought for a minute and then cackled. Her laughter echoing throughout the alley in which the five of them currently stood in various disguises. Derek thought she looked ridiculous in her tattered chiton, her flaxen hair tied up behind her. She had done her best to disguise herself as a poor peasant, her kopis concealed in her garments. Though he wondered, given the length of her gown, how she was able to hide such a sword.

The three sisters’ wings had been...well now where had they hidden _them_ in their disguises?

He didn’t dwell on it, because he was too busy lamenting the fact his disguise required him to lose the beard, one he’d worked hard to grow and maintain. Without it, he felt naked and looked too much like a boy, as his uncle, Peter, had once taunted during his biannual trip out of the Underworld to visit Mount Olympus.

“It is so deliciously simple, Derek. We shall drive the king mad himself.”

Not a bad idea. “How do you propose we do that?”

“Did you know, my dear and woefully disconnected Derek, the man is terrified of wolves? Many years ago, he found himself separated from a hunting party, and narrowly escaped death. It’s how he lost his hand you know. What better way to rescue the child of a dryad than with the call of Allison, the patron goddess of nymphs.”

Derek tugged on his chiton. It was too big, so as to lend an air of being a starving man living on the streets of Amphipolis. He hated it. He was a god, not a beggar. “Yes, suffice it to say, I had heard of his mishap.” He found himself surprised by the disinterested tone in his voice. “Yet, as far as plans go, it does seem to be our best option, one that has a retributive feel. I am sure that pleases you to no end, Nora.”

“Indeed it does.”

Suddenly, he felt himself being dragged away towards the palace where they would spread out and surrounded the place. In his hand, Erica had placed a horn of bone, rimmed in gold, into his hand. She called them into a circle. “Blow into this horn often, for its tone shall mimic the cries of a pack of wolves. If we keep up this ruse, before too long, if we do well, the old king may well prove useful.” She gave them their locations, and the group split up. The furies surrounded the acropolis; Erica sought refuge in the hedge maze (how she managed to sneak in there without being discovered, Derek could not figure out). He found an alcove outside a building near the palace.

When he heard the first horn sound, presumably Erica’s horn, he waited for the next one's call, as the goddess had instructed. Then, he brought his own to his lips, took a deep breath and expelled every bit of air his lungs contained. Throughout the city, the call of wolves echoed. The way the music of each horn blended together, made those six horns sound like dozens. When the sound began to die off, he knew it was time to sit and wait.

Nearby, sat a merchant’s stall, closed up for the day, underneath which, lay a tattered blanket. Derek tugged it free and tossed it into the alcove, folding it up on itself to form a cushion. The way Erica had put it, they could be at this for quite a while.

As nightfall crept over Amphipolis, Derek succumbed to boredom. Though his threadbare robes concealed him, divine power disguised him the rest of the way, shrouding him in an enigma, as it were. Countless residents of the town passed by him, with not one even sparing him a glance. Perhaps the disguise worked too well, and instead the townsfolk saw him as an enfeebled old man, someone to whom they should pay little mind.

With a flourish of his hand, his horn filled with wine, a plate of fruit appearing on a slab next to him. Oh the perks of divinity!

When he’d nigh but had his fill, Derek heard the cry of a wolf carry through the night air, and just like he had before, he waited for his turn to add his own note to the lupine melody. In the mostly silent city, he heard little else. The song was really quite pretty.

Horn stowed safely away for now, Derek rose from his pallet. His limbs were stiff from hours of disuse, and his bottom hurt from sitting. The blanket was hardly comfortable. Plus, if he had to stare at the walls of soulless buildings any longer, his new companions would surely find him much less agreeable.

Though he trusted that Erica's explanation that remaining close to the palace when they sounded the wolf's call would drive the king mad quicker, he didn't like it any. He made his way through the streets, walking towards the city limits, until he found the solace of rolling hills and pasture of the countryside surrounding Amphipolis.  Derek had never done well within the confines of a city. He needed the green fields, the grapevines, hills dotted with olive trees...the stars. The openness of it all, cleared his head.

The night sky was perfectly clear, the full moon bright and high, illuminating the countryside in a wash of blue light. Derek found a gently sloping hill and lay down upon it, craning his face skyward with a sigh. His heart ached more with each day his followers remained locked in those cells. Was Stiles even still alive? Derek hoped so for he was not sure what he would do if ne wasn’t.

Stiles loved to watch the stars, to see clouds rolling by in the dark, and on more than one occasion, ne had lain there with him all night as Derek told nem the stories of the fallen heroes who’d earned a place in the night sky…

... _From where it lay between their bodies, Derek gave Stiles’ hand a little squeeze, running his thumb over Stiles’ fingers intertwined with his own. With his other hand, he pointed to the sky. “Those two, there, my father calls them Kyôn and Prokyôn.”_

_“Tell me the story of that one.”_

_“Do you know the story of the Teumessian Fox?” Stiles shook nir head. “Well, if ever you should ask a Theban, they will tell you it is my fault.”_

_Stiles rolled into Derek’s side and kissed his shoulder. “And is it?”_

_Derek smirked. “I shall never tell…” He sighed with a small chuckle. “It was a joint effort. Anyway, Kreon had to be punished for a crime, so this fox, a gigantic beast, was set upon Thebes where it preyed upon the children of Thebes. Kreon sent Amphitryon to kill it, but the fox could not be killed. He had the dog, Lailaps, an equally large creature, to chase after it, because it would always catch its prey. When my father realized the quandary that had been created, with an uncatchable fox and an unrelentless dog, he cast them skyward and gave them a place amongst the stars where they can play out their chase for all eternity.” He kissed Stiles’ forehead._

_“It seems dogs and foxes shall never be friends.”_

_“They might be. You never know.”_

_Stiles rolled over onto nir stomach to rest nir head upon nir arms, throwing a sleepy grin in Derek’s direction. Derek watched as Stiles’ eyes eventually slipped close. On nights like tonight, when Stiles fell asleep, always before he did, Derek found himself studying him in quiet admiration. For all the ways ne was different, Stiles had always been intriguing to him._

_The fabric of Stiles’ chiton hung off his left shoulder, leaving skin bare from neck to hip. The moon shone brightly enough to cast light on the exposed flesh. It would be cliche to say the dotted green skin, marked with a smattering of moles, reminded him of constellations, but it didn’t._

_No, a more fitting comparison would be to say, in the moonlight, those freckles looked like fireflies among the trees, and Derek had long since memorized every one of them. He trailed his fingers over each and wished they could stay like this forever._

_It was never that easy though…_

...Sullen, Derek rose from his hillside, and standing, brought the horn to his lips, not bothering to wait for the others’ calls. He let the wolf’s cry echo from his horn until he could sound it no longer.

 

*****

 

 

Inside his palace, King Gerard had been pacing frantically within his chambers for over a week. The relentless sound of wolves had been closing in on him. He’d had nary a wink of sleep since those angry howls began sounding throughout his town and the surrounding countryside. It was almost as though Allison herself was coming to seek vengeance. Why? Surely that hedonist god, Derek would come for him first.

But those wolves- they just kept calling him out, their howls screaming his name, toying with him day and night. He’d sent his finest soldiers through the streets of Amphipolis, looking for any sight of the pack of wild canines, to no avail.

Now, every shadow looked to him like an enemy. His cheeks felt sunken; his mind raced with paranoia. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he could see a large black wolf following him constantly. He could not eat, had found that his appetite was gone. Even wine held no taste to him.

Flying in from the window, a ghostly vision hovered in the air above him, followed by a disembodied voice which assailed him from every corner of the room. _“King Gerard,”_ it said, “ _you brought this upon yourself. Your impiety will bring your kingdom to ruin. You shall cause the fall of Thrace.”_

He clawed at his scalp. “What should I do? What can I do?”

_“There is nothing **you** can do.” _

“Surely, there must be something! I will do anything to end this madness!”

_“But wait...perhaps a sacrifice will suffice.”_

The spectre surrounded him; the translucent wisps of its himation fluttered about him like wings of a butterfly, and he swung at them madly in a desperate attempt to push the unwelcome visitor away from him. “Anything! I will do it! Just leave me be!”

When it did not relent, he grabbed the kopis from its sheath and began slashing at the air wildly. “Be gone! Out with you!”

From somewhere outside his palace, the cries of wolves started again. Hand still on his sword, he ran screaming from his chambers. A week without sleep had left his coordination compromised. He crashed into several vases, knocking them to the ground where they shattered.

He paid them no mind, choosing instead to continue his mad dash the altar of his palace where he could devise a suitable sacrifice.

“My Lord,” a familiar voice called out to him, but before his insomnia ridden mind could make out a face, he swung the kopis in the vicinity of the sound.

A sacrifice.

A bloodcurdling scream erupted when the sword met flesh over and over and over. Satisfied with his accomplishment, he dragged the corpse towards the center of his villa where he lay it upon the stone altar. Drawing the blade across the neck, he let blood spill out in great volumes, a gift, an offering to Allison to entreat her to call off her wolves.

Once more, however, his spectral tormentor appeared. _“You have made an offering to the wrong god. The goddess of the hunt was not the one against whom you blasphemed. Appease the one you have wronged. Only then will the wolves stop.”_

Another scream echoed through the hall. This one however, lamented a fallen loved one. “Mother!”

Gerard looked down as yet another familiar voice lay prostrate over the fallen body of his sacrifice. Without even thinking, he plunged the tip of his sword down into the newest offering. He made prayers to the harvest god, the god of wine and revelry, begging forgiveness for his wrongs.

 

*****

 

When they finally made their way through the palace and to the prison, their disguises long since discarded, Erica whistled. “You know, I expected King Gerard to guard this place more heavily. I am both relieved and saddened to find he did not. I really wanted to put my new kopis into someone’s armor. My brother forged it for me just last month. I have yet to use it. But, praise Zeus for minimal bloodshed.” She sulked despite the obvious bit of good fortune.

“I shall put it to good use for you.” Derek snatched it from her grasp and brought it down hard on the shackle and hasp. The lock broke and clattered onto the floor. Erica caught the hint, and they all continued until every cell was opened.

What lay inside nearly broke his heart. The first cell was rank with the stench of death, and only ten of what he surmised to be nearly a fifty of his worshippers remained alive. Even in their emaciated state, they still offered him praise.

He didn’t deserve it.

Cell by cell, he and his friends--and they were friends at this point--liberated the cells, and one by one the holds revealed grizzly sights, with more of his Maenads dead than alive, some in such states of starvation it looked like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Though with his Maenads now freed, Derek could feel some of his strength returning, but he was still not at his best. He called for Stiles and received no answer. Nineteen cells had been searched, yet there was still no sign of Stiles.

Powerful enough, at that point, Derek grabbed the lock and yanked it from the hasp, casting it to the ground in anger.

This last hold had the smallest window, one which only let in a tiny sliver of light and airflow. Not that Derek needed light to see the grim sight before him. None of the followers inside moved. Of the thousand imprisoned, maybe only two hundred had survived. He saw red, and then, in the corner...he saw green.

Derek ran over to Stiles, practically tripping over the bodies of his fallen followers in the process. Just like so many others had been, Stiles’ long hair had been shorn, and if ne was not in such a perilous state at that moment, Derek would have been furious. Well, vocally furious. Stiles had always been proud of nir locks, said they tied nem to both his parents, the color of them coming from his mother, and texture from his father. Derek smoothed his hands over the short hair, missing the curls he’d often run his fingers through. It was then Derek noticed something missing.

One of Stiles’ horns had been broken off, or burned off to be more precise.

Derek’s lip quivered. “My beloved, what did they do to you?” He pulled Stiles’ still form into his arms, noticing nir leg where a large wound had begun to heal over in some places, but had become infected in others. In his arms, Stiles remained still, and Derek wept before succumbing to intense rage.

This impiety would not go unpunished.

 

  
*****   

 

 

Some clarity having returned to him, King Gerard stared at the bloodied bodies of his wife, Queen Athanasia, and daughter, Princess Aikaterine, or Kate to all who knew her. In his madness, he’d slain them both and offered them up as sacrifices. It seemed to have worked, as the howling of wolves had ceased. Now though, he was faced with what he’d done and was overcome with grief.

The ground beneath him rumbled, and from the corner or the room, which had been built around a large tree, monstrous roots rose up from the ground. Before he could react, they ensnared him around the waist. The more he struggled, the tighter the roots held him. Then, a sound which he could not place, echoed throughout the palace.

With a whoosh and a loud snarl, the sound had the king shaking in fear, and soon a wave of wine came rushing down the hallway, hitting the king square in the chest. It was then, he realized his sacrifice had not been accepted. Splashing down the hallway, running at full speed, came two giant spotted cats. He he shut his eyes to hide the sight of those fangs mere feet from him.

“You killed them!”

Derek’s booming voice startled him from his mental refuge, but Gerard did not dare open his eyes for fear of coming face to face with the god’s true form. Then again, instant incineration would be better than the fear. He let his eyelids flutter open only to be disappointed with the fact the god had chosen a very mortal form in which to torment him.

 

“You think I would let you die that easy? For the Maenads alone I would harrow you forever with a fate worse than Prometheus or Tantalus, but you have personally affronted me! How dare you defile my followers and my love!”

“I do not-”

“You shamed them by cutting their hair! You burned off nir horn! Denied them food and water! Shame on you.” Derek snapped fingers, and his leopards began to tear into the king. When they made a bite, it closed over almost as soon as they moved onto another area of skin. He stood back and watched for quite some time, feeling vindicated at the sight of the man writhing in pain only to heal so his precious cats could attack again. After a long while, he gave a command.

“Drag him to Tartarus! He shall bear this punishment for all eternity!” Derek turned and walked out, the desperate pleas from the king serving as fanfare to his exit.

 

*****

 

Derek sat, legs stretched out before him, as he stared out at the countryside under the night sky. Beside him, lay the still unconscious form of Stiles. Though prayers had been answered, Derek worried they’d come too late…

… _After he’d cast King Gerard into the pits of Tartarus, Derek called in a favor to his half-brother, travelling by golden chariot to his favorite hill, their hill where he found Allison tending to Stiles’ broken body._

_She saw Derek’s confused, yet worried face, and smiled. “Ne prayed to me everyday. Nir mother had been one of my most loyal dryads.” She pulled back the cloth bandage covering the gash on Stiles’ leg._

_Derek breathed a sigh of relief to find the festering wound healing.  He knelt beside his friend and took Stiles’ hand._

_“I am sorry, but I cannot regrow his horn. They burned it off with Greek fire.”_

_He worried the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth. “Thank you.”_

_“I only hope you were not too late.”_

_“That is my wish as well.” He bade her farewell and sat beside Stiles to keep a constant vigil…_

 

...Three days now, Derek had sat on that hillside, his hand cleaving tightly to Stiles’, dutifully dripping water through barely parted lips, willing nem to awaken. He didn’t know what he would do if ne didn’t, give him a place in the sky perhaps, where he could see his friend every night and be reminded of how he’d failed nem.

“What is that one?” a small and raspy voice filled the silence, a bony finger, like a twig, attached to an arm too thin, pointed to the sky

“Stiles?” Derek’s breath caught in his throat, his voice cracking under the immense weight of relief.

“That one, there. What is it called?”

Derek lay beside Stiles and turned to face nem. “That,” he said, guiding Stiles’ hand to trace the outline of the constellation in the sky “that one belongs to Tauros.”

“The bull?”

“Indeed, but these five stars make up the face. I call them the Hyades, the Rainy Ones.”

“You call them?”

“Yes. They were daughters of Atlas, nymphs. There was a brother, Nyas, who was killed by a lion when he was very young. His sisters wept and wept for him. As a reward for their service, I gave them a place among the stars.”

“You put them there?”

Derek kissed Stiles’ hand. “They were some of my nurses.”

“I like that story.” Though still weak, Stiles hummed, “Am I dead?”

“No. Do you not recognize where we are?” His brows drew together in worry.

Stiles groaned and craned nir head, taking in the scenery. “Your hill?”

“Our hill.”

Ne sighed. “And how many others have you brought here?” Stiles dropped Derek’s hand as though it had personally offended him.

“None, only you.”

“I want to believe you, how I want to believe you, but I cannot. My heart only had affection for you, and I was just another warm body to you.”

Derek traced the outline of Stiles face. “You were always so much more than that. It took losing you for me to see that.”

“And if I said too little, too late, what then would you do?”

“I would be most aggrieved but would beg of you to keep your friendship. Is that what you want? For me to go?”

“I had a long time in those cells to think about our quarrel.” Stiles sighed. “No. I do not wish for you to leave. Faithful or not, your affection was the highlight of my life, and I would suffer more so without it.”

“And if I said, if I swore to forsake the comfort of all others, would you hold me in higher standing?”

“I might, but you are a god. By your very nature you are capricious, Derek.”

 Careful not to crush Stiles’ healing body or aggravate nir wounded leg, Derek rolled on top of nem, holding himself up, his forearms supporting all his weight. “I do not want any others, only you.” He caressed Stiles’ cheek.

“And I want to believe you.”

Derek dipped his head to place a kiss on Stiles’ lips. “Then believe me. I am done seeking comfort and pleasure in the beds of others. When I found out what King Gerard had done, I was angered yes. But I was managing, until I found out he had you as well. That hurt worse than everything else. Losing you would crush me like Atlas under the weight of the world. I could not bear that. I care for my followers, but not the way I love you.”

“How could you love a broken thing like me?” Ne reached up to rub the empty space where nir right horn had been and almost broke down in tears at the memory.

Derek caught Stiles’ hand. “You are beautiful, always were, always will be.”

Stiles cupped the back of Derek’s head and pulled him down to meet nir lips. Hands roamed over bodies under the moonlight, pulling away fabric of clothing until all that remained was bare skin illuminated in the night as they embraced on that hillside, the one that would always be theirs.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://www.captaintinymite.tumblr.com)


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